Waiting for the Moon

166

gold cords were draped from the chandelier, their valleys deepened by small, hanging Christmas ornaments. There was a scrap of paper pinned to the base of the light fixture, upon which were written the words chandelier-for light.

Ian glanced around, suddenly noticing the dozens of other notes affixed to every item in the room. He went from one to the other, reading. Sideboard-to hold hot food; table-to sit at for meals; rug; window-to see through; drapery-to keep light out.

He felt Selena beside him without even hearing her come up. All at once, he simply knew that she was there. He turned to her. She stood tall and straight, her hair loosened around her face. She wore a baggy blue gingham dress with bits of lace at the collar and cuffs. A goddess in a gunnysack.

Her face lit in a smile. "Andrew wrote those, to help me learn words."

For a second, he was so lost in looking at her face that he didn't know what she was talking about. Then he realized it was the notes. "Did it work?"

"Yes. The moment I see the word, I seem to recall its meaning. I am relearning my old life."

"Good idea, Andrew," he said to the young man, who blushed furiously at the sudden attention. "I'd like to speak with you after supper. Perhaps you-and the others-can fill me in on Selena's recovery process."

"I would think Selena's current state would tell you all you need to know," Johann said. "Just look at her, for God's sake."

Ian frowned. "It's not her looks that interest me, Johann. It's her brain. How damaged is it? How difficult was the recovery process?"

Johann's eyes turned cold. "You would see only the imperfections, Ian."

"You will sit by me?" Selena asked quietly. The question surprised Ian.

167

"Of course he will," Maeve responded.

Slowly Ian followed Selena to a seat at the table, watching her intently as the meal began.

She sat very stiff and erect, her napkin spread across her lap. She carefully placed an apple, a pickle, and two pieces of hard candy on her plate. Taking up her fork, she cut the apple in small pieces and began to eat.

Her actions were jerky and uncoordinated.

He put on his spectacles and pulled his journal and pen out of his pocket. Patient eats with awkward, almost spasmodic motions. Appears to eat based on texture to substitute for lack of taste.

Conversation buzzed around the table in stops and starts, people talking all at once, laughing uncontrollably and at inappropriate times. Beside him, Selena was talking earnestly-something about King George-in a voice so soft that he could barely hear her above the din.

He couldn't handle the noise. A dull, thudding headache started at the base of his skull and radiated outward.

He put his pen down suddenly, harder than he'd intended.

When he glanced up, he found Selena staring at him. She looked ... uncomfortable. Like his mother when she was trying to separate fantasy from fact. Lost. A little despondent.

He leaned toward her and picked up the pen again. "Are you feeling well?"

The look in her eyes was familiar; it reminded him of the desperate souls who sought psychic answers from the infamous Dr. Carrick.

"You want to know what I feel?"

"No. I asked how you feel. Do you have a headache? Nausea?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Ian. Let her eat in peace," Johann said before she could answer.

168

"I hate to agree fwith Herr Strassborg-he is German, after all," the queen said in a huff, "but Dr. Carrick is being remarkably rude."

Maeve glanced up from her plate. "It's how he used to study insects when he was a boy."